GC79: Reconciliation in Real Time

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anxiety, bishops, change, cheer, concern, Cuba, Episcopal Church, family, General Convention, God, home, House of Bishops, humbling, mercy, reconciliation, right, wrong

In 1966, in light of the Cuban Revolution and the political response of the United States, the House of Bishops voted to separate from the Diocese of Cuba from the Episcopal Church, leaving it an autonomous diocese without a provincial home.  The clergy scattered, some returning or immigrating to the US, but some who remained in Cuba were imprisoned, executed, or disappeared; priests lost their pensions, and they operated in isolation from the Church.  Cuba officially requested to be reaffiliated with the Episcopal Church and was given a list of requirements before admission.  As of GC79, all of those conditions had been met.  However, leading up to the resolution coming to the floor of both the Deputies and Bishops, there was controversy on what it would mean, how this admission might impact the admission of other Dioceses (or their exit), how to affirm already elected bishops (assuming they had not followed the current practices of approval for bishops in the Episcopal Church), among other concerns.  In other words, there was a desire to right the wrong done 52 years ago, but some anxiety about the implications of the decision.

As an alternate deputy, I had the leisure of observing either House.  On Tuesday, I happened to be observing the House of Bishops when resolution A238 came to the floor.  Each testimony pleaded for righting the wrong done by the House of Bishops in 1966.  Retired bishop Leo Frade from the Diocese of Southeast Florida spoke passionately about the resolution.  As a Cuban American who had been a part of the Church in Cuba, he got quite emotional in his plea for the bishops to do the right thing.  When it came time for the vote, the vote was a unanimous approval for readmittance.  The entire house – bishops and visitors – exploded.  Cheers and clapping filled the room, and the standing ovation lasted several minutes.  Unbeknownst to me, the Bishop of Cuba was present and was invited to approach the platform to address the House.  Bishop Curry embraced her.  The House broke into singing the Doxology.

Bishop Griselda Delgado’s speech was the most humbling.  Despite every reason to feel resentful or hurt, Bishop Delgado communicated nothing but forgiveness and reconciliation.  “We are family,” she insisted.  And although we severed the relationship so many years ago, she insisted, “Cuba never left.”  Her sentiments struck me as the exact way that God sees us.  When we reject God, God never leaves us.  When we abandon God, we do not abandon our familial ties with God.  Bishop Delgado’s profound sense of right relationship, reconciliation, and forgiveness brought the House to tears.  We did not deserve her mercy, and yet there she was, offering mercy.  When Bishop Delgado said, “The Holy Spirit is here,” I knew she was right.  In response, Presiding Bishop Curry said, “The Bishop may take her seat at Table 7.”  Those words were words of righting a wrong – fully, completely, unconditionally.

The experience the next day was equally powerful in the House of Deputies.  They too needed to approve the resolution, and it also passed unanimously.  Bishop Delgado spoke there too, but equally powerful was the triangular sign with the word, “Cuba” written on it.  It was processed to a table, and the deputies from Cuba were seated in the House of Deputies.  “Welcome home,” pronounced President Jennings.

What I loved about the approval of this resolution was seeing how legislation can powerfully effect change.  Sometimes, in the weeds of parliamentary procedure, and canonical revisions, one can wonder if all we are doing is navel gazing.  But on these days, we watched first-hand the commitment to change, the willingness to boldly repent, and the receiving of mercy.  Surely the presence of this Lord has been in this place!

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On homes, humanity, and our hands…

Tags

baptismal covenant, common, dehumanize, dignity, Habitat for Humanity, home, humanity, Jesus, light, other, poor, preferential, respect, story

Photo credit:  https://www.mncatholic.org/advocacy-areas/option-for-the-poor-and-vulnerable/

Yesterday, I attended the dedication of a Habitat for Humanity house for which our church had been a financial and volunteer sponsor.  As I watched the family celebrate, it struck me how everyone has a story.  Before becoming a priest, I worked at a Habitat affiliate in Delaware, and I remember that each homeowner’s story varied.  Some had grown up in poverty, and were the first to buy homes in their extended families; some had a health crisis that led to financial and housing problems; some were living in substandard conditions, while others had squeezed their entire families into a friend’s living room.  I do not know the full story of the Fletcher family, except that the matriarch has been working as a nurse for years, has three children, and could not afford to buy a home without Habitat.

What struck me about the Habitat event is how strong our common humanity is.  Get a new Habitat homeowner in the room with a wealthy, privileged person, and I suspect within ten minutes they will be sharing stories of their common humanity.  But get either of them outside of that room, and either person could be seen as an enemy:  someone who oppresses others and does not share their wealth or someone who does not work hard enough and relies too much on outside assistance.  Neither of these characterizations are fair – but we make them all the time.  We forget the story of each individual, and instead create categories that we can then use to generalize – to dehumanize.

I do not usually talk about politics on my blog, but our President’s recent characterization of other countries and their citizens, whom I love, has broken my heart.  The incident itself was not all that surprising.  What put me over the edge was how the comment was so brazenly said and affirmed by others, and how the comment highlighted the ways our country seems to have embraced the practice of dehumanizing others enough that they are able to say things that they would not otherwise say to another human if they were face-to-face.

Our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, advocated for a preferential option for the poor.  Time and again, Jesus took the stranger, the outcast, the downtrodden, and healed them, helped them, and loved them.  In fact, “the other,” is a recurring theme in scripture that invites us to examine our own modern designations of “insiders” and “outsiders.”  Our country’s current practice of demonizing and subjugating the “other” is an action in direct conflict with Holy Scripture and the Gospel of Jesus Christ.  We are not living into our baptismal covenant promises of respecting the dignity of every human being, and seeking and serving Christ in all persons.

This week, I invite you to examine our current treatment of the “other” – those for whom Jesus had a particular preference and priority.  Whether you need to spend some time in prayer, have a conversation with someone unlike you, volunteer some time with a charitable organization, write to your governmental representatives, or donate your money to an agency that can affect change – do something.  Do not let your light be hidden under a bushel.  And then share your story with me here, or with a friend on the journey.  I cannot wait to hear how the Holy Spirit uses you.

Discovering Home…

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church, church home, discovery, Episcopal, home, identity, invitation, Jesus, spiritual journey, transformation

Photo credit:  John Rothnie, http://www.hickoryneck.org

When my husband and I were engaged, we relocated to Delaware.  One of the first things on our priority list was finding a church home – partly because we missed church back in North Carolina, but also because we were hoping to make some new friends in our new town.  “Church shopping” was hard – nothing felt quite right, and our old standbys were not working.  I was born and raised in the United Methodist Church, and my husband had nominally been raised in the Presbyterian Church.  After months of frustration, and the recommendation of a friend, we tentatively tried out the Cathedral in Delaware.  My husband was sold on the first Sunday; I took some time to come around.  For a long time, I thought that we were just United Methodists who happened to worship in an Episcopal Church.  But what I did not realize was that a transformation was taking place – I was discovering the Church home I didn’t know I was missing.

Every person who walks in the door of a church has a similar story.  Sometimes a person is what we call a “cradle Episcopalian” – born, raised, and stayed in the Episcopal Church.  Sometimes a couple or family is looking for a compromise in faith traditions.  Sometimes people leave their denomination out of frustration and are looking for something that feels closer to the Gospel as they experience it.  And sometimes a person has never before stepped a foot in a church.  That’s part of the beauty of the Episcopal Church – our members come from a diverse set of experiences, all of which feed our mutual ministry.

That is why we are kicking off a class called “Discovery Class” this week at Hickory Neck.  Whether you are new to Hickory Neck, the Episcopal Church, or you have been around forever, I find it is always helpful to review our roots.  No matter how many times I teach this class, I find that people learn something new, feel inspired to deepen their faith, or find themselves reenergized about their Episcopal identity.  The class also gives us a chance to reflect on and celebrate the unique way that our Episcopal identity is incarnate at Hickory Neck.

I hope you will take some time this week to reflect on your own spiritual journey.  Think back to the times when you felt inspired, fed, and reinvigorated in your faith.  Recall the way you felt when you knew, or suspected, that your current faith community began to feel like a spiritual home.  And if you cannot join us at Hickory Neck, share some of those stories with your neighbors – and invite them into the wonderful work Jesus is doing in your church home!

Giving and Sharing…

Tags

church, Episcopal, grow, home, memories, money, stewardship, talent

This week we continue a series of guest blog posts by parishioners at the Episcopal Church of St. Margaret in Plainview, NY.  They are reflecting on what stewardship means to them, and how God the Giver has been a part of their lives.  Our guest post this week is from parishioner Mike Hadden.

In this latest season of stewardship, I reflect on the things that I can do to give back to the Episcopal Church that has provided me many fond memories; camps, dances, youth groups, just to name a few. I’ll share one memory. There was a point when I was a kid, growing up in Shelby, NC (Church of the Redeemer), that my father was out of work for an extended period of time. Mom and Dad were always active members in church (they later went on to found an Episcopal Church in Mooresville, NC – St. Patrick’s Mission). They had good friends through church, and participated in many activities. Deep into that employment transition for my Dad, the church vestry had apparently decided to use a portion of the discretionary funds available to cut a check to them, to help pay for our expenses. I’ll never forget the tears rolled down my Dad’s face when he accepted it.

However, stewardship isn’t just about money. It’s about what you can give back to the church through use of your talents – fundraising, maintenance work, etc. My family certainly doesn’t pledge a tremendous amount of money to the church annually. We can’t afford to. What we can – and do – do is give of our time; Mari on the Altar and Flower Guilds and teaching Sunday school; me on Vestry and Stewardship/Fundraising Committee. I firmly believe this Parish has the potential to be great. To grow back into one of the more prominent Episcopal churches on Long Island. We have lots of activities available, and are starting new ones all the time. What we need now is to use that positive momentum to drive forward in growth. The “Town Hall” meeting this Sunday felt like another step forward. Let’s continue that forward push, together.

Thank you all for everything you already do to make St. Margaret’s a great place to call my church home.

Respectfully,  Michael Hadden

 

Sermon – John 13.1-17, 31b-35, MT, YB, April 2, 2015

Tags

belonging, brokenness, church, dinner, Eucharist, failings, footwashing, forgiveness, God, home, identity, Jesus, joy, Last Supper, Maundy Thursday, peace, renewal, sacred, Sermon, sinfulness, strength, table

The dinner table is where sacred things happen.  The dinner table is where food is served that can satisfy a hunger, can heal an ailing body, can delight the senses, and can invoke a nostalgia like no other.  The dinner table is where stories are told, days are recounted, prayers are said, and laughter is had.  The dinner table is where places are set, dishes are passed, plates are cleared, and remnants are cleaned.  The dinner table is the host of all things mundane – like that frozen meal you threw together before you ran off to the next thing; and the dinner table is the host of all things momentous – like that gloriously planned and executed Thanksgiving meal that you hosted for your friends and family.  Because the dinner table can do all these things, the dinner table becomes the place in our home where sacred things happen – a holy site for one’s everyday and one’s extraordinary moments.

The dinner table where Jesus and his disciples gathered for that Last Supper was no different.  They had gathered at table hundreds of times in the three years they had spent together.  There had been learning and laughter, stories and questions, arguments and celebrations.  In many ways, all of these things seem to happen in the course of this one night during the Last Supper.  Jesus and the disciples are likely chatting up a storm, talking about the days events, when Jesus does something extraordinary.  He gets up, takes off his outer robes, and washes the feet of his disciples.  This kind of event is unheard of.  Hosts and well-respected teachers do not wash others feet; that task was assigned to a household slave.[i]  And some of the midrashic commentary suggests that not even a Hebrew slave was expected to perform such a menial task.  Instead, the slave might bring out a bowl of water, but the guest would wash his own feet.[ii]  So of course, a lively debate ensues with Peter, who does not understand what is happening.  Jesus washes Peter’s feet anyway – and washes Judas’ feet – before returning to that dinner table to explain what he has done.  He goes on to explain that not only will he die soon, but also that he expects a certain behavior after he is gone – that they love one another.

That is the funny thing about dinner tables.  They can bring out the most sacred and holy of conversations.  The dinner table is where one tells his family that he has terminal cancer.  The dinner table is where one tells her best friend that she lost her job and has no idea what she is going to do.  The dinner table is where the young couple announces that that they lost their pregnancy.  The dinner table is where the college student tells his parents that he is dropping out of school.  We tell these awful, scary stories at the dinner table because we know that the table can handle them.  The table is where we gather with those who we care about and is therefore the place where we can share both the joys of life and also the really hard stuff of life.  Though our table may have never hosted a dinner as beautiful as one of the tables Norman Rockwell could paint, our table is still a sacred place that can hold all the parts of us – the good, the bad, the beautiful, and the ugly.  We can share the awfulness of life there because we know that those gathered can handle it, and can carry us until we can be back at the table laughing some day.

What I love about our celebration of this day is that all of those things – the good, the bad, the beautiful, and the ugly – were present that night with Jesus and his disciples.  So yes, earlier in the evening, there probably is a raucous conversation.  The disciples are gathered at the table, in all their imperfection: those who love Jesus with a beautiful innocence and those who greedily hope to be at Jesus’ left and right hand; those who humbly understand Jesus and those who want Jesus to victoriously claim his Messianic power; those who profess undying faithfulness (even though they will fail to be faithful) and those who actively betray Jesus.  At that table Jesus not only talks about how to be agents of love, Jesus also shows them how to love.  On this last night – this last night before the storm of Jesus’ trial, crucifixion, and death – a sacred moment happens at the dinner table.  And though we do not hear the story tonight, we also know that Jesus then breaks the bread and offers the wine, instituting the sacrament of Holy Communion.

We know the rest of the story.  The disciples, who still do not really understand Jesus fully, muddle their way through footwashing and Holy Communion.  Then those same dense disciples sleep their way through Jesus’ last prayers.  One of those disciples becomes violent when a soldier tries to seize Jesus.  And eventually, most of the disciples betray and abandon Jesus altogether.  To this unfaithful, dimwitted, scared group, Jesus offers a sacred moment at the dinner table, inviting them into the depths of his soul and a pathway to our God:  and encourages them to love anyway.

Our own Eucharistic table is not unlike that dinner table with Jesus.  Tonight, we too will tell stories, sing, and laugh.  We too will wash feet in humility, embarrassment, and servitude.  We too will hear the sobering invitation to the Eucharistic meal, and will walk our unworthy selves to the rail to receive that sacrificial body and blood.  We too will argue with God in our prayers, pondering what God is calling us to do in our lives and resisting that call with our whole being.  We too will lean on Jesus, longing for the comfort that only Jesus can give.  And we too will hear Jesus’ desperate plea for us to also be agents of love – not just to talk about love, or profess love, but to show love as Jesus has shown love to us.

In this way, our Eucharistic table is not unlike the dinner table in your own home.  Our Eucharistic table has hosted countless stories, arguments, and bouts of laugher.  Our Eucharistic table has witnessed great sadness and great joy.  Our Eucharistic table feeds us, even when we feel or act unworthily.  And our Eucharistic table charges us to go out into the world, being the agents of love who are willing to wash the feet of others – even those who betray us and fail us.  This Lent, we have been praying Eucharistic Prayer C.  In that prayer, the priest prays, “Deliver us from the presumption of coming to this Table for solace only, and not for strength; for pardon only, and not for renewal.”[iii]   This Eucharistic table, like our own dinner table, can handle all of us – all our failings, sinfulness, and brokenness.  This table can fill us up with joy, forgiveness, and peace.  This table can be a place where we find belonging, identity, and security.  But this table is also meant to build us up – to give us strength and renewal for doing the work God has given us to do – to love others as Christ loves us.  Sacred things happen at this table.  Those sacred things happen so that we can do sacred things in the world for our God.  Amen.

[i] Guy D. Nave, Jr., “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. B, vol. 2 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), 279.

[ii] Mary Louise Bringle, “Homiletical Perspective, Feasting on the Word, Yr. B, vol. 2 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), 279.

[iii] BCP, 372.

Redefining home…

Tags

church, comfort, community, construction, home, Jesus, joy, outside, renovation, welcome, world

Courtesy of Dan McGee, St. Margaret’s Parishioner

This past Sunday we rededicated our Undercroft.  The Undercroft has been under construction since November 2013, and includes two Sunday School Rooms, our Parish Hall, two bathrooms, and the kitchen.  All rooms were completely renovated with the exception of the kitchen, which only received new flooring.  During construction, our Coffee Hours were moved to the Narthex; a tight space, but one that sufficed – and certainly brought us closer, literally and figuratively.  Many of our normal fellowship activities were either moved off campus or were cancelled altogether.  Our support groups had to move to our Library, which meant meetings on those nights also had to go off campus.

As I looked around the room during our rededication celebration, two things occurred to me.  One, I had really missed being in that space.  Many warm memories have been formed in that space, which all came flooding back.  But mostly, I missed the sound – the noise of people talking, laughing, sharing stories, and lingering a little longer over a meal.  Though we had shared in communion at the altar upstairs, the communion meal was continuing downstairs:  and it was a raucous meal – one I am sure Jesus would have approved.

Two, I found myself a little wary by the sense of deep comfort that was overwhelming me.  One of the nice things about being forced off campus was that we finally did what we had been hesitant to do – take the church out into the world.  Our committees were meeting at local dining establishments, our coffee hours spilled out into the lawn over the summer, and we got to know each other’s homes more intimately.  My fear is that in the comfort of being back “home” we will stop venturing out into the world, sharing our presence and ministry with others.

My hope is that we can do two things with our space.  First, my hope is that we can share that feeling of home with others by inviting more outside groups to utilize our space.  I would love for us to share our joy and warmth with others, so that this can become their home too.  Two, my hope is that we can keep taking church to the streets and to one another.  There is a way in which having meetings here month after month starts to stifle joy and creativity.  My hope is that our committees will agree to keep going off campus at least a few times a year to mix it up; but more importantly, to show the community that there is life and activity at St. Margaret’s.  And they are most welcome to join us!

Sermon – Luke 2.22-40, Feast of the Presentation, YA, February 2, 2014

Tags

Anna, church, community, differences, diversity, Holy Family, home, incarnational, Jesus, presentation, Sermon, Simeon

Throughout my time in parishes, I have been reminded again and again how different the varied groups are in church.  In one parish I served, the Twenties and Thirties group was struggling because the events that appealed to the single Twenties and Thirties members were not as appealing or convenient for the married Twenties and Thirties members – let alone the ones with children.  At another parish where I served, I remember trying to plan an event for a diverse group of families.  I suggested a particular time of day, keeping in mind the bedtime needs for our new infant.  After much debate, one of the other staff reminded me that families with older children do not need to start bedtime nearly as early as our family did.  I served in one parish that had Holy Eucharist on a weekday at 6:30 am, followed by Bible Study from 7:00 – 8:00 am.  As a sleep-deprived parent of a young child, the arrangement was hideous for me; but for those who worked in the City and needed to be there by 9:00, or for seniors who were up and fed well before 6:30 am, the timing was perfect.  And almost every parish I have been a part of has had youth lock-ins.  It is a special adult who is willing to supervise youth overnight, knowing that they may get little to no sleep, may need to navigate the energy and sexuality of teens, and are willing to be pretty silly and playful when they otherwise would like to be snuggling into a warm, comfortable bed for the night.

That is the funny thing about churches.  Though we all arrive on Sunday on time, relatively speaking, to do the same thing together, we all enter those doors with vast differences.  There are the basic differences – gender, age, marital status, and phase of life.  There are the personality differences – introverts or extroverts; morning or night people; spiritually expressive or quiet and contemplative.  And then there is what we bring in the door with us on any particular day.  Perhaps you just barely managed to dress and wrangle kids into the car to get them here today, probably running out of time to do much tending to yourself to get ready for church.  Perhaps you woke up with aches and pains today, but willed yourself to come anyway.  Perhaps you had a fight with a loved one recently, or even with a fellow parishioner, and you are not even sure if you are in the right mindset for church.  When we take into account all those widely diverse features of any particular gathered group, we begin to see how amazing the idea is that we even gather together at all.

I see a similar dynamic on the day that the holy family went to the temple for purification.  Mary needed to offer sacrifice in thanksgiving for a safe childbirth and sacrifice needed to be offered for Jesus as the firstborn son of the family.[i]  The family has already been through a great ordeal these past 40 days.  They managed to make their way to Bethlehem, had an eventful birth experience in a stable, had strange shepherd visitors, and are now back home.  I imagine at 40 days old, Jesus is still not sleeping through the night, Mary and Joseph are still figuring out this first-time parenting thing, and we can tell from their sacrifice of two turtledoves or young pigeons that the young couple is still struggling financially.[ii]  That this family made it to the temple for this traditional religious experience is a minor miracle.  We all know couples who have been in that stage of life at one point or another.

Meanwhile, we have Simeon.  He is a bit up in age, and has been waiting for a long time for the fulfillment of a promise.  The Holy Spirit had revealed to him that he would not see death until he had seen the Lord’s Messiah.  That means that Simeon has spent a lot of time at the temple, just waiting for that long-anticipated day.  We know that Simeon is righteous and devout, and that the presence of the Holy Spirit is strong in him.  He is a man wise beyond his years, who has been taught to look for just the right thing.  We also know that he is a man of song.  When he finally sees Jesus, he breaks into a song of praise that is now known worldwide, sung at Evensongs and said at Compline or after Eucharists.  We know too that he is not afraid to tell the cold, hard truth, as he warns Mary what hardship is to come her way through her relationship with her son.  We all know a gentleman or two from church who both show forth a Spirit-filled life, yet is never afraid to speak truth – no matter how stinging that truth might be.

Finally, we meet Anna.  Anna is in her eighties.  She has been a widow for about sixty of those years, so we know she has had a rough life.  We also know that she spends every waking hour at the temple, worshiping, praying, and fasting.  Her whole life is centered on being in the temple.  We also learn that Anna is a talker.  When she sees Jesus for the first time, not only does she praise God, but she also talks about the child to anyone who will listen.  Surely we have met that older church gossip, who is always full of church news.

So we have this beautiful scene set before us:  the frazzled young family, struggling both physically and financially to just get by; the wise, righteous older man who is filled with the Spirit, but holds nothing back – not even if maybe he should; and the older prophet whose whole life is at the temple, and who has no problem catching people up on temple news.  In truth the scene is a bit comical.  Though the scene is meant to be another Epiphanytide manifestation of the identity of Jesus Christ, the scene is almost absurd in reality.

As I pondered this scene this week, I could not help to think about our community of faith, and how absurd we probably seem to outsiders.  We have all sorts of parents with children of various ages – many of whom have confessed their own frazzled lives to me on Sundays.  We have teens who struggled to get out of bed to come to church, but who are listening and will ask really hard questions from time to time.  We have empty-nesters who are so overjoyed to have a new lease on life that they are equally likely to be found at some exciting location as they are to be found at church.  We have retirees who are deeply spiritual, who will also give you a piece of their mind.  We have members who love when the guitar team plays and members who avoid church when the guitar team plays.  We have members who will come to every Holy Week service, and other members who are lucky to make it to church on Easter Sunday.

If you look at our wide diversity, you might wonder how in the world we all call the same community home; and yet we all do, and most of us cannot imagine life without this community.  That is the joy of church.  Though that older member might take you to task on something, you also know that they often speak with the love of someone who knows you can take it and you need to hear it.  Though there are Sundays when families feel like the behavior of their children has made their worship experience a complete bust, there are members around you who only get a glimpse of joy that week by being near your child and getting to know their beautiful personalities.  Though that church gossip might frustrate you at times, she is also the same one who has been praying for you and brought you a meal when you were sick.

That is what I love about the text this Sunday and the reality of Church.  Both the text and Church are extremely incarnational – they show us the depths of our messiness, but the beauty that can only emerge from that messiness.  Both show us how no matter how wacky the people are, God shows up, and reveals joy, hope, and grace.  Both show us that no matter how challenging our community might be at times, at its best, our faith community shows us how to better love God, love ourselves, and love our neighbors.  No matter what stage of life we are in, what personality we bring to the table, or what hurdles we overcame to get here today, we need each other because God needs and uses each of us.  For that messy, challenging, incarnate community of faith, I am forever grateful.  That is the good news we celebrate today, and the good news that we invite all our messy, challenging, incarnate friends into as well.  Amen.

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[i] Lauren F. Winner, “Simeon’s Faithful Proclamation,” December 26, 2011, as found at http://thq.wearesparkhouse.org/yearb/christmas1gospel-2/ on January 29, 2014.

[ii] William R. Herzog, II, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. B., Vol. 1 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), 167.

Welcome Back…

Tags

church, community, faith, home, hurt, Jesus, journey, love, seeker, Sunday, welcome

This coming Sunday is what we call “Welcome Back Sunday,” at St. Margaret’s.  The Welcome Back is not meant to acknowledge that parishioners have been away all summer, despite the fact that I have heard anecdotally that Robin Williams once said that Episcopalians are the only people God trusts enough to take the summers off from Church.  No, Welcome Back Sunday is a time that we are welcomed back to the program year and all the fullness that the program year offers.  For us, Welcome Back Sunday means returning from one Sunday service to two services, the return of educational and formation opportunities, more fellowship activities, and generally more life and energy around the church.

To prepare for Welcome Back Sunday, invitations have been sent out to our neighbors, our website has been redesigned, a welcome breakfast has been planned, a full line-up for the fall is all set, and in general we are hyping up parishioners to get back into the swing of the program year.  We have been sharing videos about Welcome Back Sunday – my personal favorite being this one.  But despite the fact that I am energized and excited about what this program year has to offer, I am aware that for many, Church is still an experience that many keep at arm’s length.  Perhaps you never grew up in a church setting, perhaps you began to feel unwelcome in church, or maybe the Church has actively hurt or disenfranchised you.  Whatever the reason, for many Church is seen as an irrelevant experience to your everyday lives.

For those who have been hurt, I completely understand why you keep your distance.  Having been severely judged by someone who claimed to love the Lord, I understand why you would keep up your guard and be suspicious of any church enthusiasts like myself.  But I must say, there is a part of me that aches to share the joy, love, and sense of wholeness I have found through the Church.  Yes, the Church is flawed, and full of sinful people, but at its very best, the Church is a place where people can vulnerably step forward with their struggles with God and be invited along a spiritual journey in the context of a community of seekers.  I think that is why my heart aches when I hear songs like Macklemore’s “Same Love.”  In it, he sings about the ways that Church has deeply wounded our gay and lesbian brothers and sisters.  His words make me want cry out to the world that the Church has another way of being too – a way of love.

So this week, if you find yourself without a Church home, without a place to ask the hard questions about God, or without a community who lets you be you in the journey, come to Church.  If you are in Plainview, I hope that Church will be St. Margaret’s.  But if not, I hope you will look for a Church that lives into what Jesus dreamed of for the Church – a community of faith living the way of love.  Whether it has been a week since you have been to church, years, or you have never been to church, I say to you, “Welcome Back.”

Sermon – Luke 9.51-62, P8, YC, June 30, 2013

Tags

church, control, Fourth of July, home, Jesus, Sermon

This week, most of us will celebrate the fourth of July in some fashion or another.  Though the holiday is filled with words like independence, patriotism, liberty, and fireworks, mostly we are celebrating a sense of “home.”  Our celebration of the Fourth is really a celebration of the place that millions of us commonly call home.  Our songs celebrate this theme:  “God bless America, our home sweet home”; or “and the home of the brave.”  This is a day that we celebrate our home with a sense of pride, of belonging, and of identity.  Like any home, our country has faults and drawbacks, but our country is our home, and nothing else can replace the sense of comfort that home can bring.

Perhaps what we forget in our celebrations is that our “home” did not always feel that way.  Centuries ago, when the original settlers came to this country, the country felt nothing like home.  In fact, those settlers left what they knew as home, with all the comforts home offered, and came to this foreign place.  This was a place of newness and discomfort.  Nothing was familiar, and in fact much of what the settlers experienced was downright scary or dangerous.  Though settlers came here to establish a new home, that home-like feeling took a very long time to create.

Here at St. Margaret’s we have made a similar transition in the last fifty years.  I was just reading the rough draft of our fifty-year history this week, and I was thinking about the contrast of those early years with our experience of St. Margaret’s now.  Fifty years ago, St. Margaret’s was merely a group of people gathering.  We had no building, no clear identity, and certainly no sense of the familiar.  In fact, the story goes that when we would gather for Sunday worship in the American Legion Hall, the smell of smoke and beer lingered from Saturday night events at the Hall.  When people left their church homes to join St. Margaret’s, I am pretty sure smoke and beer on a Sunday morning was not exactly what they were dreaming of for their new home.

So as we Americans prepare to collectively celebrate our home, and as we at St. Margaret’s, in our fiftieth year of ministry, continue to celebrate our home, we find Jesus saying some pretty funny things about home in our gospel lesson today.  When someone along the road says to Jesus, “I will follow you wherever you go,” Jesus says to him, “Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests; but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.”  Then, when Jesus calls others to follow him, and they first ask for some basic things, like burying their father or saying goodbye to their loved ones, Jesus refuses.  In other words, Jesus basically tells anyone considering following him that they will lose all sense of home – not only the literal place to lay one’s head, but also all the comforts and familiarity of home.  Following Jesus is a calling into a homelessness of sorts.  Jesus’ calling into homelessness is pretty scary.  Following Jesus means giving up control and trusting that all will be well, which is a lot to ask, considering Jesus has already told them that all will not be well.  Their new “home” will be a place of suffering, persecution, pain, and homelessness.  Jesus’ new home sounds a lot like the home those founding ancestors of our country and those founding members of St. Margaret’s faced years ago.

To be honest, I am not sure I would have been able to follow Jesus as those men and women did so many years ago.  I am sure you already know this about me, but I am a pretty big fan of control – or at least the illusion of control.  I do not like the feeling of things being out of my control.  So when Jesus asks me to let go of control – of a sense of home and familiarity – I am not sure I would have said yes.

The good news is that I do not think Jesus is actually asking us to cede control to him.  Jesus is not really offering the choice of either us being in control or him being in control.  As we well know, Jesus did not head to Jerusalem with the mission of taking control or charge.  Instead, he set his path to Jerusalem to throw himself fully and completely into our out-of-control lives and to come out on the other side.  That is the promise of this Gospel – “not that we can be in control, or even that God is in control, but rather that God in Jesus joins us in our out-of-controlness, holds onto us, and brings us to the other side.”[i]  This is the homelessness Jesus is really inviting us into – this commitment to giving up the illusion of control, to take some risks, and to throw ourselves into this turbulent life and world, trusting that God joins us in the adventure, holds us through the ups and downs, and brings us in time to the other side.  When Jesus offers his hand out to others to journey with him into homelessness, this is the underlining promise – that he is with us in the journey into homelessness and out-of-controlness.

On my mission trip to Burma, we had a day when we were supposed to go see working Elephants in the forest.  We loaded up our truck, crammed in way too close, as usual, and began the bumpy journey.  But an hour into our ride, our truck had some mechanical issues.  We pulled into to what seemed to be a local mechanic, although our version of a mechanic shop and the Burmese version of a mechanic shop are very different.  Sensing that this stop would take a while, our tour guide suggested our team take a walk.  The seven of us followed, happy for a distraction.  During our walk, we came upon a rice paddy, and could see workers out in the field.  Although the team was content to observe from a distance, our guide recommended crossing the dikes to get a closer view.  We found his offer shocking.  We worried about trespassing, encountering swarms of disease-carrying mosquitoes, or falling off the dikes, which looked quite tenuous.  Most of the team looked at the sturdy ground on which we were standing and decided that we should not test the swampy paddy.  When our tour guide realized most of us were not following him, he came back to the place where he jumped to the first dike.  First, he pleaded with the group as a whole.  Then, he called me by name.  “Jennifer, please come with me.  It’s okay.  You can trust me.”  I looked into his dark brown eyes, and saw a sparkle of adventure and joy.  I looked back at the dirty – but dry – road wistfully.  Then I turned back toward our guide and his outstretched hand.  His smile conveyed a sense of confidence and encouragement that warmed my heart, and I found myself jumping across the water to the dike.

We all know that sense of crossing into Jesus’ homelessness.  Certainly our country this week has at many times felt out of control.  Though we call this place home, we have been bitterly divided about Supreme Court decisions and Congressional bills this week.  Those decisions have left us wondering what sort of home we are creating now.  The same could be said for St. Margaret’s.  Though many of us know this place as home, our home seems to be ever changing.  There are new ways of operating, new projects underway, and new invitations.  There is an ambiguity about who we will be and how we will change.  But the promise in all of this, especially in the emerging sense of homelessness in our country and in our church, is that God is right here with us.  God continually promises to be on this crazy ride with us.  That reassurance by God today fills us with hope, and a renewed sense of courage and joy as we journey forward.  Today, as we look into Jesus’ sparkling eyes, he calls us by name, and says, “Come on.  Let’s go be homeless!”  Amen.

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[i] David Lose, “Out of Control,” as found on http://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post=2614 on June 28, 2013.